When I Became a Bar Mitzvah - By Zach Larkin
Published October 13th, 2009 Note: I wrote this several weeks ago for a project, the subject being: “An event that affected your life or you perception of life.” Republished here is the essay. ————————————————————————— On August 30, 2008, family from around the world and friends from around town crowded inside a temple to share with me the Jewish coming-of-age ceremony: becoming a Bar Mitzvah. After nine months of intensive Torah and prayer training, as well as 13 years of life experience, I was ready to enter maturity in the Jewish community. On that day, I learned much about myself, though what I learned was far from what I expected. Frankly, I was unsure of myself. Not frightened chiefly of how I’d do, though that was a factor, but of how I’d feel. You see, I didn’t quite consider myself “religious.” I considered myself a humanist. I believe in human potential and the accomplishments of man. Where some see a divine plan, I see the delicate balance that is the human condition. Yet, I also considered myself quite Jewish. My family was Jewish. Many of my friends were Jewish. I had been exposed to Jewish culture, tradition, and values my entire life, and thus had a major challenge on my hands: to reconcile my nonreligious beliefs with my religious identity. Self-doubt aside, the preparation for the Bar Mitzvah was much more strenuous and demanding than the ceremony itself. It required seriousness and more importantly a commitment to myself. I was to meet once a week with a tutor for five months, learning during each half-hour session the prayers I would have to recite, the Torah portion I was supposed to read, and most importantly, the way I had to pronounce and sing each word. Of all the learning, this was the toughest. There were various cantillation marks, each with an individual tune, scattered throughout the portion, and I had to learn each mark and its relationship to each Hebrew word. Gradually, as I started studying off texts that would prepare me for what the Torah would actually look like, I had to depart from the written signs, and commit the portion to memory. After the five tutoring months, I studied with the cantor and finally my Rabbi for the last two months before the dreaded date of August 30. It was during my first meeting with the Rabbi that I learned I would have to deliver a D’var Torah, or a sermon after reading from the Torah. Public speaking had always been an interest of mine, so I was more than eager to work on what I hoped to be an eloquent representation of the Torah portion. Then, I realized the incredible task I had to fulfill. You see, my Torah portion, Parashat Re’eh, like most other portions of the Torah, directly challenged my nonreligious views. Much of Re’eh (which is a speech by Moses to the ancient Israelites) deals with orders to destroy worship places of nonbelievers, temples or monuments to other gods. It was also fear-mongering, fire-and-brimstone order to expel all of the sinful and doubtful from the community. I knew this was to be a challenge, but I had the will to overcome it. Over the months before writing the speech, I had gone through much more mind-numbing exercises. I reread the portion. Re’eh begins with Moses exclaiming, “See, this day, I set before you blessing and curse… blessing if you obey, curse if you turn away.” This intrigued me. Obviously, this implied that there was no real choice. Blessing or curse, heaven or hell. I mentioned this to my Rabbi, and after reading through other areas of the portion, we realized that the real meaning is both more sinister and hopeful. We concluded that choices themselves embody both blessings and curses. Choices themselves may cause consequences, but can also be consequences. I moved on to the next major area of the speech, that those who did not follow Moses’ and God’s commandments would be expelled from the community. I decided to do something unconventional; I chose to disagree with Moses. I felt that banishing one from society because of a mistake one made wasn’t right. My Rabbi agreed with me. We then went deeper into what motivated Moses to exact this harsh penalty. We determined that Moses included this in his speech, a) to show his strength as a leader; b) to put fear into the unbelievers; and primarily c) to unify an unstable tribe. A true politician. I decided to state in my speech that, “''I think that I would… encourage them to unify because of our common universal values and not because of intimidation.”'' Reviewing the portion, I noticed that Moses mentioned a commandment that I didn’t disagree with. Moses commanded the Israelites to donate one tenth, or “tithe,” of their agricultural “income,” to the vulnerable (widows, orphans, and strangers). I felt this was the most practical of the commandments, and didn’t hesitate to include it into my drafted speech. Then it struck me. As I was reading my early draft, I happened upon my observation of the choice Moses offered the Israelites. Blessing and curse. Blessing! I then realized that the commandment to donate to and feed the needy was not a choice that would bring about a blessing, but in itself a blessing! Riding my momentum, I hurriedly added more to the part of my speech where I mentioned choices. I wrote, “Today I ask you… be aware of your choices. Don’t take them lightly… each decision will influence the next – in your own life and (in a ripple effect) other peoples’ lives in ways you may never even realize.” The next day, I crafted an introduction for the speech. I decided to open it with a quotation, not from the Bible, but from an event from my life. That summer, aside from Bar Mitzvah training, I had performed in the Shakespearean play Hamlet as Polonius. Of Polonius’ oft-quoted lines, one struck me as more than relevant to my earlier said predicament of inner conflict between my beliefs and my identity: “This above all else- to thine own self be true.” Eureka! It was at this stage that my nonreligious beliefs and my Jewish identity became one and the same. I realized that the Bar Mitzvah was not a decision between identity and belief. It was a choice I had made months ago. I finally discovered that the Bar Mitzvah was not the three hour event of singing from an ancient book. Becoming a Bar Mitzvah had already occurred in the months of preparation I had endured. I had become a Bar Mitzvah in analyzing a Torah portion that I disagreed with vehemently. On the morning of August 30, 2008, I stepped into the synagogue fully prepared. I knew my prayers. I knew my Torah portion. I had my speech in a binder tucked under my arm. I greeted friends and family, who wished me either “good luck,” or to “break a leg.”At 10:30 AM, the ceremony started when I led a few trivial prayers. Nothing special. Then, a very emotional moment occurred. About 20 minutes into the Bar Mitzvah ceremony, the parents of the Bar Mitzvah traditionally present to the Bar Mitzvah a Tallis, or prayer shawl, as well as a short speech or words of advice. My father, who I’d always known to be resolute and strong, teared up as he told me how proud he was of the young man I’d become. After several more prayers, the big moment occurred. In front of friends and family, I recited my Torah portion in ancient Hebrew, making minimal errors, and with only one well-disguised crack of my pubescent voice. And then I delivered my D’var Torah. I’ll be modest enough to say it was well received, but from what I heard, it moved many people. It ended like this: “I made a personal choice that I am proud of today, and certainly will be proud of in the future. My choice was becoming a Bar Mitzvah; and therefore choosing to identify myself as a Jew in the world- a minority. I did decide to be true to my heritage. I did decide to be true to my family. Most importantly, I chose to be true to myself. I now urge all of you to take these last few words to heart; ‘To thine own self be true.’” Category:By Zach Larkin